Demons
by bonnie-incognito
Summary: If she doesn't lie, surely she must cheat? If she doesn't kill, surely she must murder? If she doesn't remember, surely she can't forget. She never forgets the first time he pushed her away, when she knew he would never join her. :Sirius:Bella:Oneshot:Gen


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"You're lying," he says bluntly, turning away from Narcissa and continuing to pack. She is stood behind him, clad in all silver and shimmering green. She is ice cold, and he cannot stand the sickly sweet smell emanating from her. Slytherin Princess. He is in denial; he knows the truth, has always known it, has been wondering how long it would be before Andy finally snapped. Personally, he's always thought Ted was a pretty nice guy, but he's not seeing from behind the clouded, greyscale eyes of a Black. He's Black himself, of course, but _his_ family lies beyond the stone walls of Grimmauld Place.

"I don't lie," she states. Truthfully, actually, Sirius has to admit. She does not lie; she twists the truth around her perfectly manicured little finger. She is the mistress of secrets, the ultimate cunning manipulator. What you don't know she knows, she doesn't need to tell you…

He mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like 'scheming bitch'. She sighs, grabbing his shoulder and twisting him round to face her. He slaps away her hand, feeling its unnatural frost through the fabric of his thin, cotton shirt. He does not understand how anyone can freeze his skin so in such sultry July weather. There is a humorous sparkle in her midnight eyes as she pulls back her hand, inspecting her claw-like nails carelessly. _She means well, clam down._ He takes a deep breath; he chokes the air straight back up as he feels another presence behind him. Narcissa laughs openly as the new arrival leans forward to place her elbows carelessly on top of his head, chin resting languidly atop her folded, ivory hands. Bellatrix still towers over him; she stoops to attain such a position, bent in the middle and smiling caustically at nothing in particular. He shivers at her touch, not daring to wriggle out of her seemingly innocuous grasp. She is colder than her sister, chilling him to the heart, painfully frosty fingers on his head. Narcissa leaves the room, giggling acidly. There is a bitter undertone to the sound, a note of agony vented only in solitude.

"I'm not afraid of you, Bellatrix."

"Why would you be, Mr Black?"

"_Bella_… where's Andy?"

"Gone."

"Where?"

"Hell, for all I care; she ran off with that _darling _mudblood of hers." Her voice drips sarcasm, but her eyes betray her sour, broken hurt as she shrugs indifferently.

"_Muggle-born_, Bella, not mudbl-- but you don't care, what does it matter…"

"Don't go getting any big ideas about going to find her, now, my little Gryffindor traitor, because we _will_ go after you, you know." He knows whom she is talking about; she is already a Death Eater, a creature of the night now, and she no longer has to act alone.

"I'm fifteen, I can look after myself. Besides, why would the big, bad _Death Eaters_ waste their time chasing a teenage blood-traitor schoolboy around London when they could be busy killing innocent children, or torturing Muggles just for the fun it?" He smiles humourlessly at the opposite wall, not flinching as her nails dig involuntarily into his scalp.

"Oh, the things I could tell you about innocent children… or maybe you'd like to hear about how they beg and cry, and scream for their mothers when you hex out their filthy little guts? When you rip out their--"

"_SHUT UP!_" He wrenches himself from beneath her cold arms, horror painted across his features and hands over his ears. He shakes his head obsessively, burying his face in his hands and sobbing hot tears for this lost girl. It is one thing to hear of such gruesome activities in the news, or in passing while eavesdropping on your mother's whispered conversations to her pureblood, socialite friends, but it's quite another to be in a cramped room with a killer, so be leant upon by a murderer with a passion for revenge against a race which has done her no harm. She is laughing at him, but he pays her no heed, his world is spinning, spinning, spinning… "Stop the world, I wanna get off," he mumbles, unable to remember quite where he's heard that before. Some drunken night with James and Remus, no doubt, stumbling about the red and gold common room in a firewhiskey induced stupor. Peter would've been in bed.

"What was that?" she mocks, delighting in his misery and confusion. He is still reeling from the not-quite-shock of Bellatrix's preferred pastimes. Her high-pitched giggles rip through his head, imprinted on his mind for many a year to come. He stumbles to the bed, dropping onto the mattress; he hears glass crunch and plastic snap under him, but he does not care, why should he? Nothing matters anymore, not material possessions, not feeling nor pain, because surely all have been betrayed now.

He never forgives her for shattering his perceptions of the world through a child's eyes. He never forgives her for sweeping out of the room, still laughing manically and marvelling at his innocence.

"Where's Andy?" he chokes out, vaguely aware of her disappearing form in the hallway.

She has to shout over the noise of her mother's calls to leave, yelling her answer back over her shoulder in the portrait-lined corridor.

"Dead."

(_he never forgives her at all_)

-x-

Moment pass, and he is five and rosy-cheeked again, observing his new object of interest with a comically studious expression.

-x-

"_What is it, Bella?"_

"_It's a puffskein, Sirius. It's called Kubbly."_

"_It's ugly, Bella."_

"_I know, Sirius."_

_Silence._

"_Bella?"_

"_Sirius?"_

"_Why does mummy say I shouldn't talk to strangers?"_

"_Well, you never know who the stranger is… you're only little, and it might be someone nasty like a murderer, or a kidnapper, you know."_

"_What's a murderer?"_

_Silence. _

"_Someone who… someone who hurts people, makes them cry."_

"_Oh… I don't like murderers anymore. They're not very nice."_

"_Not really, no…"_

-x-

Twenty two years later, she has not changed in the slightest; he is maybe the only one to still see her face beneath the mask, for she wears two these days. He cannot delude himself for much longer though.

She is _not_ the same person underneath it all.

She will show _no_ mercy.

Oh, surely this is it… he is trapped between the wall and Bellatrix, neither being the preferable option, and she is closing in for the kill… her wand is raised… she opens her mouth to speak those deadliest of words… then…

"What's a murderer, Bella?" He speaks in desperation, words from times long gone coming back to him now. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, confusion in her eyes.

She advances.

She stops. There is something like recognition stirring within her.

She smiles. It is not the smile of the pretty girl from so many years ago as she introduces her young cousin to Andy's new pet. Sirius doesn't know whose smile it is, but it is not the smile of warmth, of friendship or remorse, of mercy or regret.

"Someone who hurts people, Sirius, makes them cry."

"I don't like murders anymore, Bella; they're not very nice at all."

"Not really, no."

She is remembering times of her childhood, of whispered promises to lost sisters that she would never leave, of curling plaits and pretty dresses, petty fights over nothing, and rare visits from exciting, well-travelled uncles. She is remembering the smell of mother's homemade ginger cake, of father's leather shoes and Cissy's freshly washed hair; wet silk and peaches. She is remembering times of chasing the rainbows with Andy, running across fresh, damp grass to find her pot of gold at the other end, of unladylike snowball fights, and holding her baby sister for the first time, the wonderment of the tiny hands and feet clinging onto her fingers as if they would never let go…

And, this time, he escapes; he almost defeats her, with her glazed look and vacant eyes, but she is remembering the time he first pushed her away, the time she first knew he would never join her. She is out to kill.

"You shouldn't talk to strangers, Sirius; you never know who they might be." Then he is laughing wildly, because he does not know who this stranger is, does not care anymore.

(_because you really shouldn't talk to strangers, you know_)

-x-

"_Andy?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_I don't suppose… I don't suppose you'd know where to find Bella, would you?"_

_The atmosphere turns frosty now._

"_I left Bellatrix behind me three years ago, her whereabouts are of no interest to me."_

"_I'm sorry Andy, I shouldn't have brought it up… it's just, I need to give something back to her that she left behind at the house one day."_

_She is intrigued as to what Sirius could possibly want to return to her sister._

"_Oh yes?"_

"_Yeah…"_

"_What's that then?"_

_Her daughter is squirming in her lap, reaching pudgy arms out to her coudin and gurgling irritably. Sirius takes the child in his arms, setting her upon her knee and jiggling her up and down. _

"_Her heart."_

-x-

Nineteen years later to the day, Sirius Black is dead.

(_the end_)


End file.
